


Court Brings Out the Worst of Us

by whtbout2ndbrkfst



Series: Alec and Anthony J (A Broadchurch / Good Omens Crossover) [2]
Category: Broadchurch, Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Human, Angst, Depressed Crowley (Good Omens), Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Established Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens), Established Relationship, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Past Child Death, Protective Alec, Protective Aziraphale (Good Omens), Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, established Ellie Miller / Alec Hardy, protective ellie miller
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-07
Updated: 2020-01-08
Packaged: 2021-02-17 22:10:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 10,402
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21700549
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/whtbout2ndbrkfst/pseuds/whtbout2ndbrkfst
Summary: Seven months after Part 1 ends, Crowley and Aziraphale are back in Broadchurch for the trial of Vanessa Klemmens. What starts out as a nice "family reunion" and easy court case, takes a turn when the defense puts Crowley on the stand to set him up as a potential alternate suspect. What happened to Crowley and Kate in 1999 comes to light, and Aziraphale, Alec, and Ellie are left to pick up the pieces.This probably doesn't make much sense without part one.
Relationships: Alec Hardy/Ellie Miller, Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Series: Alec and Anthony J (A Broadchurch / Good Omens Crossover) [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1560010
Comments: 62
Kudos: 181





	1. Court Part 1

Seven months after the bookshop bombing, Crowley and Aziraphale are back in Broadchurch for the trial of Vanessa Klemmens. Crowley is their key witness and the four of them have decided to make a bit of a family reunion out of it. 

Ever since the group dinner a few months ago, things have been looking up for their growing relationships. Alec and Crowley are starting to share real pieces of their history and have stayed up well past midnight on more than one occasion reacquainting themselves and relearning their shared history from the other’s perspective.

Ellie and Aziraphale get on like a house on fire - they have wonderfully deep conversations about everything from baking to art to philosophy. Despite her instance that it's unnecessary, Aziraphale loves treating her to the finer things in life and surprising her with teas and jams from all of his favorite London haunts. 

Tom thinks Crowley is the coolest human he’s ever met and talks to him endlessly about music, cars, and girls. He thinks Aziraphale is pretty cool as well and even though they have an ongoing argument about which teams to root for (how a man so well traveled can root for Manchester football team AND the Welsh rugby team is beyond him), he always enjoys setting Zira off on a long-winded story about one of his and Crowley’s adventures.

And Daisy? Daisy and Crowley are closer than anyone could have possibly predicted. While reforging her own relationship with her dad, she’s found Crowley an easy soul to relate to and latch onto. Inadvertently, she’s actually the glue that got her father and uncle talking, really talking.

So here they are, back in Broadchurch, enjoying the first days of Spring. The trial, thus far, has been pretty straightforward. Despite Vanessa pleading not guilty, the evidence is piled up against her, and once Crowley gives his testimony this afternoon, there’s no way the jury will be able to let her walk. 

It’s with this optimism bordering on boredom that Aziraphale, Crowley, Ellie, and Alec enter the courtroom. 

Jocelyn Knight smiles up at Crowley as he takes his seat on the bench.

However, her first statement throws him for a loop. “Please state your full name for the court.”

Crowley frowns and turns to the judge, “Do I have to?”

She’s not impressed. “Yes, you have to. Your full name, please.”

Crowley lets out a long suffering sigh and makes eye-contact with each Aziraphale, Ellie and Alec in turn. He’s not sure if he wants to laugh or cry.

“Anthony Jehovah Crowley,” he admits, glaring daggers at no one in particular.

He hears a few amused huffs, one stifled laugh. Alec winces in shared sympathy. Aziraphale quirks a smile at him. Ellie is shaking her head in amusement. _Well,_ Crowley thinks, when the whole room doesn't erupt in laughter, _maybe it’s not the worst name in the world._

The rest of Joceyln’s questioning goes without a hitch. She has Crowley walk through his recollection of the morning, questions his ability to identify Vanessa Klemmens at the scene, and even walks the jury through the aftermath of the explosion from his perspective. 

He’s completely calm when the defense starts questioning him. 

“It is true that you’re from London?”

“I am.”

“What were you doing in Broadchurch on the morning of the bombing?”

“I had traveled in the night before with my husband. We were planning on spending the week on the beach and exploring the town.”

“Despite the fact that it was too late in the season for swimming?”

Crowley sits up straighter in his seat, catching on that Bishop might actually be going somewhere with this line of questioning.

“Yes,” he says, “I’m an interior designer had just wrapped up on a seasonal interactive display piece for work and wanted to take a break before diving into the fall collection.”

“And is it true that you’re related to D.I. Hardy, the lead detective on the case?," she asks, seamlessly switching topics. 

“I am.”

\--

“What are they doing?” Aziraphale leans over to ask Alec. 

“The defense just needs someone they can hypothetically pin it on if they want to clear Vanessa. Looks like they’ve decided Crowley is the easiest target. Don’t worry. They can’t possibly have anything damning on him.” 

\--

“Did you collaborate with your brother, D.I. Hardy, on a story after the bombing before giving your statement?”

“Not at all.”

“Why then did you not make your statement until two days later? From the record, everyone else made their statement the following day, and yet yours was missing. Were you biding time until D.I. Hardy could supply you with the information you needed to pin the crime on Ms. Klemmens?”

Crowley sneers at the defense attorney, but keeps his cool. “I wasn’t available the following day,” he says simply. “I came into the station before talking to D.I. Hardy. When I provided my account, we had not spoken at all about the attack or the crime scene.”

“And why weren’t you available the following day?” she pressed.

Alec and Ellie both wince; that had looked suspicious at the time as well, and Bishop is right to play it up. 

Up front, Crowley is wincing too. He was hoping to not admit he had a mental breakdown in front of the entire town of Broadchurch today. He tries to keep his answer accurate but vague, “I was upset after the crime scene and I needed time to myself.”

“Where did you go?”

“West Coker.”

“West Coker?” she questions.

“Yes. Small town. Cute park. Nice bakery.” That gets a faint smile from some who are watching. 

“So, to confirm,” Bishop presses on, "You’re telling me, that after the bombing, you not only ran from the crime scene, but you also left town.”

It’s not how he’d word it, but he sees no point in lying or dragging this out, “Yes.”

The defense attorney lets the admission hang in the air for a beat before continuing, “And are you aware that your fingerprints were on the fragments of the explosive device?”

“Yes,” Crowley says again, “As I was picking up the bookshelf and other debris that had landed _on my husband, _” he snarls the last part, “I must have touched one of the fragments. My fingerprints, are not however, on the part of the device with the trigger, which you know from the report, but failed to mention.”__

__“Your fingerprints were also found on the door,” Bishop continues, ignoring his rising annoyance._ _

__“Well yes, that makes sense,” he smiles a predatory smile at her, refusing to rise to her bait, “as I was definitely inside the shop that day and I haven’t yet found a way to enter establishments without the use of them.”_ _

__She again brushes off his response._ _

__He gives her a once over, wondering what else she’s going to throw his way before this afternoon is over._ _

__And then she hits him with the last thing he ever possibly would have expected, “And where were you on the afternoon of 24 June 1999?”_ _

__All the blood drains from Crowley’s face. “What?” he chokes out._ _

__“Where were you on the afternoon of 24 June 1999?,” she repeats._ _

__“What does … What does that have to do with anything?”_ _

__“Are you refusing to answer the question?”_ _

__The courtroom has gone eerily silent. He feels sick. “No, I… No." He's drowning."I ... I was in Florida. Miami.”_ _

__“More specifically?”_ _

__He looks up at her, anguish carved into every feature of his face. “Why are you doing this?” he pleads._ _

__She shows him no mercy. "Are you refusing to answer the question? You’re obligated to tell the truth Crowley; you’re under oath.”_ _


	2. Court Part 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sharon Bishop ruthlessly drags the details of June 1999 out of Crowley

From the second Attorney Bishop mentioned the June date, Aziraphale was ready to jump out of his seat - whether to fight her or hug Crowley he’s sure he would have decided along the way - but Ellie reached out and clamped down on his hand, effectively restraining him.

“They can’t do this,” he pleads.

“She shouldn’t, but she can,” Ellie’s voice is laced with loathing, “She’s ruthless.”

Aziraphale forces himself to focus on Crowley, keep his face as calm as possible in case his husband seeks him out for strength. But Crowley’s eyes are staring blankly at his own fingers as he struggles to form a coherent sentence. “24th of June,” he repeats, mostly to himself, before continuing with a bunch of half starts, “Miami, Florida. I was picking her up. I picked her up every day... 4:50pm. She went there after school until I picked her up. The Nook it was called.” Crowley hasn’t voiced this story aloud in over a decade and as it comes out in incoherent bits and pieces, it’s clear that every word is like a dagger in his heart. 

“Tell us what happened that day, Mr. Crowley,” Bishop insists. 

But Crowley hasn’t heard her. He’s lost in his own thoughts, drowning in the memories of the worst day of his life, and he’s unable to satisfactorily comply with her request.

Seeing her client struggling, Jocelyn attempts to step in, “Objection your honor. How is this relevant to the current case?”

The judge looks over at the defense attorney. "If you have a point, I need you to make it. Don’t drag this out.”

Sharon Bishop decides to change tactics, “Permission to hand packet 4279 over to the witness?”

“Granted.”

“Mr. Crowley, please read the police report from the September 2019 bombing,” Bishop says handing him a folder with multiple clippings inside.

Crowley wipes the tears from his eyes, not sure exactly when they started openly falling, and tries to get himself back under control. He opens the folder and scans the first article; it’s about the bombing at the bookshop. He’s floundering, unsure what to make of interlude, but grateful for the return to the topic at hand. Though he tries to focus on the courtroom in front of him, the raw pain from 20 years ago has taken hold of his thoughts.

His voice isn’t quite his own yet, but he manages to read, “Two people were killed Monday at the Broadchurch Bookshop in what appears to be a personally motivated attack. An additional four patrons were injured and transferred to the hospital for care. Forensics suggest an accelerant was involved. At this time, there are no known suspects.”

Crowley is just managing to regain his footing when Bishop follows up with, “Now please read the police report from the June 1999 bombing.” 

Crowley raises his head in shock and registers a cut-off protest and a gasp from the back of the room. He’s not sure who uttered them - Aziraphale, Alec, or Ellie - but he pushes it out of his mind. In fact, in that moment he makes the decision to push everything out of his mind. He pushes all thought, all feeling, all pain, he pushes it so so far down that it’s barely registering, and with a blank expression, he turns over the first article to find the second. It’s the only way he’s going to make it through this.

In a dead voice that he’ll never remember using, he says, “Seventeen people were killed Thursday at The Nook Childhood Education and Recreation Center in what appears to be a personally motivated attack.”

Hearing the similarity in the words, Alec knows exactly what game the defense is playing, but at what cost? Hearing the deadened voice of his brother breaks something inside him and he has to clench his hands into fists to prevent himself from crossing the court and decking the attorney and forcibly stopping the whole process. He’s not entirely sure how Ellie has managed to keep Aziraphale from exploding.

Alec forces himself to listen to the end of Crowley’s recitation, praying to a God he doesn’t believe in that there’s a coming back from this. “Forensics suggest an accelerant was involved. At this time, there are no known suspects.”

Crowley is still staring blankly at the paper in front of him, face free of all emotion, and it scares Alec like nothing else ever has. No one should have that dead look on their face. 

The entire room has taken on an uncomfortable edge; they may not know what they're watching unfold but their sympathy clearly lies with the broken man on the witness stand. 

“Is it true that no one was ever held accountable for the Miami bombing?” Bishop plows on, either oblivious to or ignoring the palpable discomfort of the courtroom.

“That’s true,” he hears Crowley's robotic answer.

“And are we supposed to believe it merely coincidence that you were, by your own admission, at the scene of two similar crimes, in two different countries, almost two decades apart?”

There’s no response.

“How many other bombings are you responsible for Anthony Crowley?”

\---------------

The courtroom is in an uproar. Journalists are scrambling to connect the dots and find information on the twenty-year old case, Crowley’s supporters are shouting protests, the jury looks like they’ve been hit by a freight train, and Aziraphale is on his feet gesturing wildly.

“Objection!” says Jocelyn again, barely holding in her own ire at the defense attorneys cruel strategy. 

The judge bangs her gavel, attempting to restore order to the court. “Objection sustained. Ms. Bishop your claims are unsubstantiated. We ask that the jury please dismiss the accusation of prior crimes from the record. I must remind you that Mr. Anthony J. Crowley is not on trial today.”

And, in recognition of the complete chaos continuing to unfold around her, “We’ll have a short recess. Return in 30 minutes. Don’t discuss the case.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hmmm... hope this works for everyone ... I wanted to explain what happened to Kate, but didn't think Crowley would just offer it up freely.


	3. Let it out

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In the aftermath of the trail, Alec finds himself supporting his brother. Ellie and Aziraphale confront Bishop.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this took so long to post - my life is a little crazy lately, and this chapter is NOT my friend; it just didn't want to be written. Hope you enjoy!

The moment the court is dismissed Aziraphale is up and out of his seat and moving as if on autopilot. His fists are clenched with righteous fury and anyone who dares to make eye-contact quickly looks away lest that glare be transferred to them and they find themselves cursed to the darkest pits of hell. He looks as though he’s preparing for battle and everyone is quick to move out of his way as he storms out the back of the courtroom.

Ellie follows immediately behind him, ready to share her own thoughts on the cruel circus the defense attorney had made of the trial proceedings. 

The pair confront Sharon Bishop, defense attorney, in the hallway before she’s able to escape. “How dare you!” starts Aziraphale. “I hope you feel good about yourself,” hisses Ellie, circling around her to ensure she can’t leave without hearing what they have to say, “you disgust me.”

Alec had started to follow them, with slim hopes of possibly diffusing the situation, but ever since Bishop made Crowley read from the old police reports, he’s only had eyes for his brother.

And that brother has yet to move.

At all. 

Crowley is still sitting stone still, face blank, starring a hole in the wood in front of him. It's clear whatever thoughts are leaking through the stone wall he quickly erected aren’t positive ones.

“Crowley,” Alec ventures softly after crossing the room to stand before him. “Hey.” 

When Crowley ignores him, he reaches out slowly to grab one of Crowley’s hands. He meant the gesture to be comforting, but Crowley jerks away in surprise.

“Sorry, sorry, hey” he’s quick to soothe, holding his hands up where his brother can see them, but Crowley is looking through him instead of at him and Alec knows he isn’t yet processing his situation, so he keeps up a steady stream of soothing nonsense, hoping for a glimpse of _anything_ in those eyes; some sort of reaction to show that Crowley hasn’t completely shut out the world around him. He just wants to see anything other than this deadened blank state Crowley has fallen into and doesn’t seem to be making any effort to drag himself out of.

If Alec is being honest with himself, he's a little panicked. He knows he isn't the best at dealing with his own emotions, nor at talking to people, but even he allows himself to rage, to cry, to breakdown occasionally, and watching his brother turn off so completely continues to terrify him. "Crowley," he tries again, "You're allowed to be angry," he says, cringing a bit at how awkward that sounds aloud, "you're allowed to cry or yell or snarl or, or tell me I'm an idiot," he says floundering for a connection. Receiving nothing in turn, he sighs.

“Crowley, we can’t stay here, okay?” he tries a different tactic, silently cursing Aziraphale for not being here. “Let’s go find Ellie and Aziraphale.”

There’s no recognition at their names either and something threatens to break inside Alec. Swallowing down the sob that threatens to escape, he reaches for Crowley’s hand again, even more slowly this time, and counts it a minor success when it’s not immediately wrenched away, “That’s it, stand up, let’s go,” he says gently tugging him out of the chair and down the aisle of the courtroom.

Crowley, at least, seems to have enough wits about him to follow silently. They’re making slow progress and haven’t quite made it to the door when they hear Ellie laying into Bishop.

“...Aggressively RUINING PEOPLE’S LIVES!” They catch the end of a tirade, and Crowley flinches a bit at the raised voices. It’s the most reaction to anything he’s had and Alec thinks maybe he'll count it as a win. “It’s alright. It’s just Ellie,” he says in what he hopes is his calm professional voice, but to be honest, he’s barely holding his own anger and fear under the surface. “Just Ellie,” he says again face to face with Crowley now. “That’s why I leave the bollocking to her now,” he adds cautiously trying to lighten the moment a tad and garner a reaction. 

Crowley nods, actually nods, thank god, and cranes his head around the door to get a glimpse of the war going on in the lobby of the courthouse.

Ellie, who’s overtaken shaming duties from Aziraphale, is still laying into Bishop who has managed to keep a relatively bored look on her face, probably only fueling Ellie and Aziraphale's anger further. A small crowd has gathered around, and although most agree with Ellie’s asertations on Bishop’s character, a few, including Reverend Paul Coates, have stepped in in an attempt to de-escalate the situation. 

Because everyone’s attention is so finely attuned on Miller and Bishop, only Alec sees Crowely walk up to the feuding trio. He follows silently, his hand still in his brother's.

“Why?” Crowley asks softly having reached the edges of the fray.

The group feels his presence more than hears him, but it’s enough to stop the ruckus if only for a moment.

He looks up at Bishop as all three turn to look at him.“Why?” he says again and then, suddenly, Crowley is crying, huge wracking sobs, letting every bit of hurt he’d been holding in for the last half hour pour out of him. And it felt like everything. And he thought he might never stop.

Then Aziraphale’s arms are around Crowley. And then so are Ellie’s and Alec’s and everyone is supporting him, encouraging him to let it out. Aziraphale pulls his husband tighter against his chest and whispers how proud he is of him, that everything is going to be okay, and that he’s here, he’s here, he’s always here. They’re all speaking over each other, but Crowley’s not listening anyway, too busy releasing everything he’s been holding inside, expelling the pent up pain. 

It’s cathartic. It’s messy. It gives him a headache.

Bishop slinks out while they’re all distracted.

When Crowley seems to have cried himself out and is being primarily supported by Aziraphale, more limp rag doll than brother, Alec, who has yet to relinquish contact, offers the couple a ride home, “Come back to our place. We’ll make dinner.”

“I think I’d really rather get shitfaced to be honest,” Crowley rasps out, and Alec wouldn’t have heard it if he wasn’t still invading his brother’s personal space.

Alec doesn’t know if he should laugh or cry or protest, so he does none of the above. He thinks about suggesting a healthier coping mechanism, but Aziraphale, who has pulled away a tad to to get a better look at his husband simply says, “Okay,” and Ellie has decided to go along with it as well, saying she heard McGovern’s is having a happy hour special on well drinks, and Alec realizes he’s outnumbered and maybe just maybe, there are situations where drinking yourself to sleep with friends is better than crying yourself to sleep with friends.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ugh. I don't know why this chapter was so hard to write. I tried it with every character talking to Crowley and Alec just seemed to work best, even if I really wanted it to be Aziraphale. Oh well; it's written now!
> 
> Anyway, next chapter shouldn't be nearly as long of a wait as this one. Tomorrow or Monday hopefully?


	4. Things Fall Apart

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Crowley drowns his pain in alcohol.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I added some additional tags, so check those just in case. They apply to this chapter and the next. Drowning your pain in alcohol is never a healthy choice.

_Alec realizes he’s outnumbered and maybe just maybe, there are situations where drinking yourself to sleep with friends is better than crying yourself to sleep with friends._

So instead of offering up a healthier coping mechanism, Alec offers to drive instead.

It’s only 4pm when the four of them find themselves in the corner seats of McGarver’s pub. If the man tending bar recognizes any of them, he makes no indication of this fact as he places a menu in front of each of them. He’s starting to go over the specials of the day, but Crowley interrupts him, “3 shots of whiskey and your best bottle of red.”

The man, a professional, seems neither put off nor surprised by the interruption, but nods his head and turns to fulfill the request. When he returns, he offers up a bottle of Dal Forno Recioto 1988 for Crowley’s inspection; he nods his assent and gestures to the wine glasses for bartender to start filling them, waving away the offer to taste it first.

With the three glasses of wine distributed (Alec turned down the offer), he returns with the shots, ready to distribute them to the same three patrons.

“Ah, no, those are for me,” Crowley says collecting them all to himself. He downs the first one immediately.

The bartender shoots him a worried look, but doesn’t protest. His worry is matched, and surpassed, by Alec who shares his own look with Ellie. She shrugs, not sure how to proceed, and does her part by snagging the bottle of wine and pouring out overflowing glasses for her and Aziraphale, limiting the amount that’s left for Crowley’s consumption.

He watches her warily, but doesn’t outwardly protest.

Crowley downs the other two shots and the silence stretches awkwardly between them.

Aziraphale makes a valiant attempt to save the outing by bringing up a fond memory from a few weeks ago, but the story falls flat as Crowley refuses to engage in the story telling. 

Ellie begins to wonder if maybe Alec was right and this is a terrible idea when Crowley, tongue perhaps loosened by the alcohol, starts talking. “I took her to a minor league baseball game once," he starts, and all eyes are immediately on him. "Neither of us even liked baseball, but I wanted her to have that true American experience. We were living in New York at the time, so it seemed like the thing to do. I don’t remember who was playing, but the opposing team was purple. Kate was obsessed with that. We had to root for the purple team ‘cause she said so.”

Alec offers him a smile and Aziraphale reaches down and grabs Crowley’s thigh in a show of support, but they all know to let him talk without interruption.

“The game was incredibly dull. It always is, I think, but this one seemed exceptionally so. We sat behind third base, and the man there had on these purple socks, tall ones. Everyone else on the team had on black, but this man for whatever reason was wearing purple ones. ‘Purple socks’ she started calling him - cheering his every move,” he chuckles a bit at the memory, but it sounds more sad than mirthful. “He must have heard her somehow - the lone voice cheering for purple amid the rabid New York fans. He caught a ball that went out of bounds and jogged it over, searching her out, and tossed it up to her. She missed of course, but someone was kind enough to hand it over. She cherished that stupid thing. A baseball from a no name man on a no name team playing a sport she didn’t even like, and we had to put it in a glass case on a shelf in her room like a collectors item.”

Crowley finishes his story and his glass of wine, reaching over for another. Ellie reaches the bottle before him and pours him only half a glass, ignoring his sound of protest. “She sounds precious. Full of spunk. I’m sure she kept you on your toes,” she offers quietly, not wanting to break him of his quiet contemplation, letting him share as much as he wants, but not pushing for any more. She knows how fragile this moment is.

“She was,” he confirms, “she did.”

He doesn’t offer any more, and Ellie takes the attention off him as best she can by sharing her own story of taking Tom to a football game when he was about the same age, watching his reaction the whole time to make sure she's not making things worse. By the end of her story, it’s clear that Crowley is no longer paying attention, struggling to stay awake and upright after downing the shots and glasses of wine in quick succession.

“Let’s get him home,” says Alec, standing up.

“Let’s,” says Aziraphale, paying the bill before encouraging Crowley to lean on him for the trek to the car. 

Less than 10 minutes later they’re parked in front of the Trader’s Hotel. Crowley has since fallen asleep, so Alec gets out of the car to help Aziraphale get Crowley inside and settled on the bed. Alec removes his brother’s shoes and socks while Aziraphale shimmies his coat off of him, “Should we be worried?” he asks softly, not wanting Crowley to wake.

“I don’t know,” Aziraphale says, letting Crowley’s hair out of it’s bow, and pulling him upwards before arranging him in a more comfortable position, “He was talking about Kate, which is a good sign actually.”

“That’s not… I meant …” Alec blows out a breath, “Aziraphale, our father was an alcoholic.”

“Oh. OH. I see. No, um, he’s not… Look, I’m not going to defend this and say it’s a healthy coping mechanism, but it IS a coping mechanism, and although he can drink a lot at times, he hasn’t let the drinking go too far. He doesn’t rely on it.” Aziraphale runs a nervous hand through his hair, stands, and gives Crowley one last once over before meeting Alec’s gaze; this is serious and he needs to make sure they’re on the same page with this. “He’s been bad before, really bad. Not just the alcohol, but that’s a part of it of course. When I first met him…” he trails off, then picks up again with a slightly different train of thought, “It’s not easy this. Him, like this. And he’ll spiral if we let him, but with your help,” he pauses, “We do have your help, right?”

“Of course,” Alec is quick to answer.

“Having you and Ellie will make this so much easier. He just needs to know that he’s loved. That he _deserves_ love.”

Alec nods.

Aziraphale nods back, “Thank you.”

“Do you want me to stay?” offers Alec.

“No, no. We’re okay I think. He’ll sleep it off and we’ll face whatever comes in the morning.”

Alec looks torn, but nods, “Call me. If you need anything, call me.”

Aziraphale assures Alec he will and they walk to the door of the hotel room together. Aziraphale wraps his brother-in-law in a hug, “thank you” he says again, and then Alec departs into the night, closing the door behind him.

Aziraphale comes back in to his sleeping husband, curled up in bed, still wearing his clothes from the day, but looking relatively comfortable despite the formal wear. Aziraphale sighs, strips down to his boxers, and settles against the headboard. It’s been a long day and he knows he’s a long way off from sleep. It's still early and his mind is moving a mile a minute, so he frets and he prays. Prays for strength. Prays for patience. Prays for healing.

Crowley, sensing his warmth, squirms until he’s settled himself across his husbands lap. Aziraphale smiles down at the mop of red hair before him, thankful for the moment of peace, and begins running his fingers through the long strands of hair. He’s not sure what tomorrow morning will bring, if there will be a fight, if there will be tears, or, quite possibly the worst case scenario, if Crowley will try and pretend none of it happened, but for now he has this, and he drifts off thanking God for providing small beams of light in times of darkness.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm thinking two or three more chapters, but to be entirely honest, I don't know exactly where this story is going (it so far has not followed ANY of the outline I started with), so bare with me as I figure it out :)


	5. The Morning After

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The next morning

Judging by the light coming in through the curtains, Aziraphale wakes later than he thought he would. He's still propped up against the headboard and it's rather uncomfortable, but he appreciates Crowley's attempts to physically meld with him during the night, nearly every inch of skin pressed as close to his as possible.

Despite having spent half the night sitting up worrying and his partner falling asleep before 6pm, he isn’t surprised he’s the first to wake up. Crowley is never an early riser to begin with and Crowley after a night of drinking can stay in bed half the day. He checks the clock - 7:43 AM - and his phone - two new text messages. Unlocking the device, he sees that the first is a group text from Alec asking him to check in and the second is a text from Joceyln asking if Crowley wants to go back on the witness stand to refute anything Sharon said yesterday or if they want to let it stand. 

He shoots off a quick text to Alec and Ellie letting them know he’s awake, but Crowley is still asleep so he’s not sure exactly what their plans are for today or what the mental state of his husband will be. He ignores the second text for now; it may be against his better judgement to even offer the chance of going back on the stand, but Crowley deserves to have a say. 

He can't put off the inevitable any longer. “Crowley, dear, it’s time to wake up,” he says running his hands down his partner’s back. 

Crowley only snuggles deeper into him.

“I know. I know,” he smiles, “But I have to talk to you.”

A grunt this time.

“There’s water right here on the bedstand for you, and if you let me get up, I can make tea -” Another grunt from Crowley “ - Or coffee?”

There’s a pause where Aziraphale thinks he’s going to be ignored, then, “Whiskey?”

Aziraphale pales. “No Crowley, water, then food,” he says, serious. “You can’t...” he trails off, the conversation he had with Alec the night before rearing its ugly head in his thoughts. His partners unhealthy ways of dealing with trauma unlocking deep seated fears he thought they were well past. “We’re not going down that road Crowley,” he says firmly.

“Just let me sleep angel,” comes the muffled response.

He knows they’re running out of time if Crowley wants to go to court and he doesn’t want to take this decision out of his hands, so he responds cautiously, still hoping they can get through this with minimal turmoil, “No can do, my dear boy. Jocelyn texted; she wants to know if you want to offer a rebuttal to yesterday?”

Crowley immediately tenses, so he’s quick to add, “It’s just an option, Crowley, just an option.”

“You want me to?” it’s soft, but Aziraphale is able to make it out. 

“Dear, no, of course not dear, I just needed you to know it was an option. We don’t even have to go to court at all."

Crowley relaxes a little over the course of Aziraphale’s speech, but makes no move to get out of the bed or further interact with him. 

"But we can’t hide from this forever- everything that happened yesterday; I won’t let you. You need to get up. Eat something.”

Aziraphale sighs and rearranges himself so he is curled up behind his husband, “I know it hurts. And it’s allowed to hurt. We can talk about it if you want to. We can call your therapist if you want to. We can go visit Daisy and Fred and Tom if you want, or we can go out to the beach, or we can go to the court and see the final day of testimonies, or we can stay here and spend the day just the two of us. There are lots of choices Crowley, and they’re all yours. No one is going to force anything on you. But self-destruction isn’t a choice. I won’t let you choose to hurt yourself.”

When Crowley doesn’t respond, but nestles deeper into the bed covers, “I need you to try,” Aziraphale begs, The fear he's been suppressing finding a way into his words.

Crowley still doesn’t answer, but he does roll over so that he’s facing Aziraphale.

"Love, it'll be alright. We can get through this. I just need to know what you need - anything you need, okay? I'm here for you. Alec and Ellie, and kids are here for you. You're alright. Okay?" He knows he's rambling, but Crowley's continued disengagement is tearing him apart, making him question if he'll be enough, praying that he'll be enough. 

He reaches a hand down to Crowley's face, tilting it up to meet his. “Please Crowley, _please _, for me.” Aziraphale isn’t sure when he started crying, but a teardrop makes its way down his cheek, “Talk to me.”__

__“Don’t cry, angel,” Crowley mumbles, ducking his chin so that his face is no longer in Aziraphale's hand._ _

__“Please, Crowley”, he tries one more time, and despite his attempts to comply with his husband’s wishes, Aziraphale cries._ _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've been emotionally torturing Crowley and Alec for two whole stories, but I make Aziraphale cry ONCE and now I feel like a monster.


	6. Sometimes She Deserves It

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What Crowley wants aka slightly healthier coping mechanisms

Ironically it’s Aziraphale breaking down that gives Crowley the strength he needs to start putting himself back together.

For a moment, he considers snuggling deeper under the covers, ignoring Aziraphale’s tears and letting himself drown in them, but Aziraphale begged him to try, begged him, and if anything can sway Crowley’s heart, it’s Aziraphale. Aziraphale asked what he wanted, so he asks himself the same. He _wants_ to curl into a tight ball and not get out of bed for a week. He _wants _to pour a bottomless glass of whiskey and get so shitfaced he doesn’t have to think about anything ever again.__

__He’s tired and hurting, and it’d be so easy to just never get out of bed again. But Aziraphale’s right - he’s past that, he’s _better _than that, and he has people who care for him now. (It’s been years and he still sometimes catches himself off-guard with the revelation that he’s loved.) He clings to that thought now, pulls it tightly around his bleeding heart and hopes that the knowledge can hold him together until he’s ready to stitch his broken pieces together again.___ _

_____What does he want? _He’s not entirely sure what he wants for himself, but he knows he wants to take care of his husband.__ _ _ _ _

______Baby steps._ _ _ _ _ _

______One thing at a time._ _ _ _ _ _

______He blows out a breath, asks God for courage._ _ _ _ _ _

______“Az -” he starts, but he doesn’t know what to say. Aziraphale hears him, but he’s still sniffling and crying, and trying to _stop _sniffling and crying, and he’s making a mess. Crowley grabs his hands, squeezes them tight, too tight to be reassuring, but it’s something and that’s progress, so Aziraphale squeezes back to let him know he heard him.___ _ _ _ _ _

________“Crowley, I’m sorry, I…”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________“Shhhh. Me too,” Crowley says bringing Aziraphale’s hands up to his own face and nuzzling them._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________“Don’t apologize,” stammers Aziraphale._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________“Shhhh” Crowley says again. He’s not sure where to start in fixing this - fixing himself, fixing Aziraphale, fixing this whole damn mess of a situation. Aziraphale is still crying quietly, and Crowley may not know what he _wants_ , but he knows he _doesn’t want_ want to join in the crying (he's not sure either of them would ever stop), so he searches for a productive answer - something tangible, something real, something that might make today even a little bit worth facing. He doesn’t want to blow off the concern and the pain and pretend it’s okay, nor does he want offer up half truths or empty promises; doesn’t want to offer up more than he can give._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________“Do you -” starts Aziraphale and at the same time Crowley says, “Let’s go to church angel.”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________“What?” Aziraphale sputters, momentarily caught off guard._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________“You heard me; let’s go to church.”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________Aziraphale takes a moment to respond. He considers aking why, but he knows. This isn’t completely unprecedented, but he questions his own response for a moment. He doesn’t want to ignore the huge steps Crowley has gone through, mentally and emotionally, to offer up not only a plan of action, but a healthy coping mechanism, but at the same time, he doesn’t want to make the situation uncomfortable by placing more weight on Crowley’s request then necessary._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________He decides to go with his gut and hope for the best. “You just want to yell at God again, don’t you?” he says lightly, with no tone of reproach in his voice._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________“Sometimes she deserves it,” Crowley says simply, and then rolls away to get out of the bed._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________Aziraphale shakes his head, suffering from a bit of emotional whiplash, and makes to follow his husband, “Breakfast first,” he calls after him. Crowley only grunts, but he knows he’ll appease him. “They serve croissants and muffins downstairs.”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________“If you insist.”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________“I do.”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________And then Crowley is sniffing his shirt from yesterday and frowning before stomping off into the shower._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________\------_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________Two hours later - two hours which consisted of a very long, very hot shower, grumblings over toast and eggs, and text messages shot off to Alec, Ellie, and Jocelyn letting them know they will very well not be joining them in court today, thank you very much - Crowley is making his presence known in the Broadchurch chapel._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________Aziraphale chooses to give him space. Waiting outside, he isn’t surprised when ten minutes after they arrive, Reverend Paul Coates comes out to talk to Aziraphale while Crowley is ‘talking to God’._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________Paul raises his eyebrows as he approaches him, “You know, I always try to get my parishioners to talk to God like He’s a friend, or a father, but I’ve never quite seen anyone with _that_ kind of relationship with God” he says nodding toward the church and the man inside letting all his grievances be known. _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________Aziraphale laughs, “I can imagine.”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________“He said, and I quote, ‘Well she isn’t very nice to me and I have a lot of questions.”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________“Sounds about right,” says Aziraphale not offering up any additional insight on either Crowley’s claimed injustices or his choice of female pronouns for their Heavenly Father._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________Paul smiles, “I don’t want to overstep or ruffle any feathers, but I was in court yesterday, and I’ve heard whisperings about Alec and Crowley’s past since you showed up here last Fall. I don’t know either of your stories, but it’s clear he hasn’t had an easy go of it…”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________Aziraphale nods in confirmation so Coates continues, “I know how vehemently Alec hates anything related to religion, so I may have assumed he felt the same way,” he says nodding towards the church again to show he means Crowley, “but, now I’m thinking that may have been a misstep. If you think he’d want to talk - about any of it - I’d be happy to sit with him.”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________Aziraphale returns his smile, genuinely thankful for the offer. “I think he’d like that.”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________“Okay, great. Just stop by whenever. Or,” he says reaching into his pocket and handing over a card, “here’s my number.”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________Aziraphale accepts it. “Or you can just be here tomorrow.”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________“Tomorrow?,” Paul questions._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________“Yeah,” and now it’s Aziraphale’s turn to nod toward the church, “He’ll want to apologize.”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________And _that_ more than anything else Reverend Coates has heard this morning, strikes him as ridiculous and he laughs. “Tomorrow then, I’ll be here,” and he gives Aziraphale his leave._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, i just have this idea that this is a sort of tradition and every couple months or years or whatever Crowley gets righteously angry and goes to a church and “yells at god” and then feels bad about it and makes Aziraphale go back with him a day or two later so he can apologize. Aziraphale has told him a hundred times that he doesn’t have to go IN a church to talk to God, but Crowley insists its an essential part of the process. Aziraphale doesn’t have to get it; he just goes along with it.
> 
> ALSO, I promise to bring Alec and Ellie back in the next chapter; I never meant to write so much without them.


	7. Alec's Perspective

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The aftermath of the case. Again. From Alec's perspective.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope everyone had an amazing new year!! Sorry I went MIA for a few weeks, but I've been travelling a lot with the holidays.

When Alec agreed to drive the three of them to the bar, this isn’t how he expected the night to go. Well, if he’s being honest, it _is_ exactly how he feared the night would go, but when all three of them had agreed so quickly and turned to look at him for approval, he had shoved all those fears right down, caving to the sight of their pleading faces. And, now, less than hour later, they're sitting in a bar, Crowley's drowning in both alcohol and emotions, and Alec isn't sure this is a storm the four of them know how to weather.

That’s what he gets for going against his instincts and being nice.

So, expected or not, Alec’s stomach sinks somewhere to the proximity of his toes when Crowley takes the three shots for himself. He wants to protest, he wants to make Aziraphale protest, he wants to make Crowley feel like he doesn't need it, and he wants them all to not be here using alcohol as a coping mechanism, but mostly he wants to not feel so completely useless in the face of Crowley’s pain. So he does nothing.

Ellie snags the bottle of red right out of Crowley’s clenched fingertips before he can start downing that straight from the bottle, so at least that’s something. 

As the silence between them stretches on, he searches for anything meaningful to say, but everything sounds trite and the words of comfort stick in his throat, never making their way to the surface. What can you possibly say in a situation like this? Even years on the force haven't left him with the words for when your brother is accused of murdering his own child twenty years ago and forced to recount the worst day of his life before a room of total strangers.

As twenty minutes rolls over into thirty, he considers pulling Crowley up by the arms and dragging him back to their place, shoving him onto their couch, filling him with tea and biscuits, and turning on the TV. At least then none of them would have to come up with anything to say to each other. He wonders if that would salvage this evening. Probably not. It seems to be well past saving.

He looks up as Aziraphale attempts to make small talk, but it’s half-hearted and with Crowley staring sightless into his (regrettably full again) wine glass, there’s not much room for the conversation to breathe. Crowley is spiraling and he’s taking them all with him.

Ellie looks at him, opens her mouth as if she’s about to suggest - he doesn’t know what - but before she can articulate whatever it is she’s thinking, Crowley says,“I took her to a minor league baseball game once,” out of nowhere. Alec sits up straight, eager to learn more about the niece he knows so little about and wary about where this story is coming from.

It takes a few hesitant starts, but Crowley is soon sharing a coveted insight into their lives twenty years before, a time he’ll always regret not being around for, a time even before Aziraphale. He feels Aziraphale lean in to offer Crowley physical support and unconsciously mirrors the action from the other side to provide support of his own, offering a small smile when Crowley looks in his direction. 

He finishes the story and his glass of wine and seems to deflate, coming to a complete halt in front of their eyes. No one dares breathe to loudly less the moment shatter into something ugly around them. 

When Crowley reaches for the bottle of wine, Ellie easily slides it away from him, taking it for herself and pouring him only the tiniest of sips before draining the rest of the bottle into her own glass. He grunts a protest, but with the moment broken, Ellie quietly says, “She sounds precious. Full of spunk. I’m sure she kept you on your toes,” acknowledging the story for what it was, allowing Crowley to continue if he desires, but not putting any pressure for continued conversation. Crowley offers up a bit more and sensing that he’s done sharing Ellie easily steers the conversation to a new topic. It’s a perfect response and Alec couldn’t love her more than he does in that moment.

A little over an hour after they arrived at the bar, Crowley is listing, clearly no longer paying attention, and struggling to stay awake.

“Let’s get him home,” says Alec, standing up slowly.

Aziraphale pays the bill (it’s hefty; perhaps Alec should have protested when Crowley selected a $200 bottle of wine), and drapes Crowley across his shoulders to start making their way back to the car. Following a few steps behind, Alec recognizes the ease and familiarity in which Aziraphale moves - almost as if assisting a drunken Crowley out of a bar is a practiced action - and the sour fear from before returns and makes a home in his gut. 

For the ten minute ride, it’s all he can think about. _Should I say something to Aziraphale? It’s not really my business. What would I say anyway? Aziraphale knows more about his habits than I do, surely. Maybe I’m just worrying over nothing. He’s never drank like this before. And people are allowed to drink, get wasted even. Even on bad days. Just cause I don’t like it doesn’t mean it’s wrong. But... But what if it’s a problem? But what if it’s not healthy? But what if Aziraphale doesn’t know? But …_ Alec shakes his head in an attempt to clear his circling thoughts. They’ve pulled up outside the Trader’s Hotel and Crowley is passed out in the back seat. 

“I’ll help he says,” unbuckling and climbing out of the car. “Just be a mo’,” he says to Ellie once they have Crowley propped up between them. She gives him a smile and leans over to pull his door shut, keeping the cool night air out while she waits. 

\---------

Once they have Crowley tucked in bed, Alec sitting on the end of it, he turns to Aziraphale and bites the bullet, “Should we be worried?,” he rushes out.

Aziraphale, of course, doesn’t get it. Says it’s a good thing Crowley’s talking about Kate at all, and well, maybe it is. He considers letting it go at that, but Alec started this conversation and he’s going to get his point across if only so he can tell himself he said something. He bites his cheek. “That’s not… I meant …” Alec blows out a breath, “Aziraphale, our father was an alcoholic.”

Alec sees the light bulb go off in the other man’s eyes. _There we go_ he thinks desperately. Aziraphale rambles a bit, but the conclusion seems to be no, it’s not a problem, not really, but no, it’s not healthy either, and well, maybe it should be managed better. Aziraphale asks for his help and Alec is quick to assure him. “Yes, of course,” he says simply but fervently; he hopes that his conviction comes across, his overwhelming desire to be helpful in this.

They exchange a few more pleasantries and Alec offers to stay, but isn’t surprised when Aziraphale turns down his offer. He gets a long hug from his brother-in-law and then the door closes between them. He rests his forehead against it and breathes deeply. He hears Aziraphale cross the room and start getting ready for bed. He’s still standing there 10 minutes later when the overhead lights go out and Aziraphale presumably climbs in next to Crowley.

It’s another 10 minutes before he forces himself away from the door and down the stairs to the car where Ellie is resting against the window.

“You okay?,” she asks.

He isn’t sure how to answer that question so he doesn’t. 

She changes the question, “He okay?”

He doesn’t know how to answer that one either, so he looks at her and offers a shrug. She wraps him in a huge hug, uncomfortable within the confines of the car, but full of love and comfort nonetheless. 

“Let’s go home.”

“Let’s go home.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Pretty sure this is the second to last chapter, but who knows! This was only supposed to be 2 or 3 chapters about the court case and the court case was only supposed to be an excuse to explain what happened to Kate but ‾\\_(ツ)_/‾


	8. the Hardy-Miller Household

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The morning after in the Hardy-Miller household

When Alec and Ellie walk through the front door, they shouldn’t be surprised that Tom and Daisy already know what happened in court that morning; word travels quickly in Broadchurch, especially at school. But after the bubble the four of them had created around themselves at the bar and then at the hotel, their concern feels like an intrusion.

“Is he okay?” Tom asks before they’ve even stepped fully inside the house.

“I can’t believe you left them alone!” Daisy accuses a second later.

Alec isn’t in a mood to argue or defend his actions so he shoulders past them and starts to make his way upstairs. When Daisy turns to follow, Ellie grabs her arm lightly, “come on, Daiz, don’t harass him. He’s not the one you’re angry with.”

Daisy deflates, wraps Ellie in a hug, and then turns to follow him up the stairs “I’m still gonna talk to him though.”

“It better be to give him a hug, not a scolding,” Ellie calls after her.

\---------

The next morning, Alec is up before the sun staring at his phone, hoping it’ll give him information. He sends a text. When he doesn’t get a response immediately, he sends another text. He waits in frustration, staring out their sitting room window with a scowl on his face and his hands on his hips. Ellie finds him in that exact position 15 minutes later and inserts herself in front of him, forcing his arms around her. They watch the sunrise together and she reminds him that it’s not his job to fix the world. 

A text comes in. Thank god. All it says is that Aziraphale is awake, but Crowley isn’t. He growls in frustration and shoves his phone back in his pocket. It’s not nearly enough information, but it’s clear that it’s all he’s getting for now. He pulls Ellie with him into the kitchen to start making breakfast. He’s banging pans around, making a god awful racket for seven in the morning, and it’s no surprise that the kitchen is soon full of two cranky teens. Tom looks ready to complain, but Daisy shoots him a look. She steals the frying pan from Alec and asks Ellie to start cracking eggs.

“I was doin’ that”, protests Alec.

“Not well, you weren’t”, his daughter retorts. “You can make toast. And tea. And juice for Fred. Where _is_ Fred by the way?,” she says, looking around.

“Not sleeping” grouses Tom who shuffles back out of the kitchen for his bedroom, presumably to fall back into bed and pretend the last five minutes didn’t happen. Teenage boys can do that.

Alec slots bread in the toaster, turns the kettle on for tea, and disappears upstairs to find the youngest member of the family. Seeing him playing quietly on the floor, he leans on the door jam. “Morning Fred.”

“Morning Alec.”

“You want to come downstairs?”

“Too noisy.”

Alec smiles a bit at that. “Sorry Fred, that was me. I was in a bad mood,” he says honestly.

Fred looks up at him with big eyes, “You okay, now?”

Alec recognizes the sincerity and concern in the young boy’s voice and smiles in earnest, “Yeah. I think I am. Come on.”

Fred gets up and passes Alec in the door frame, but comes to a halt at the top of the stairs. He looks down and then back at Alec who has followed him from the bedroom. “Up!” he demands, putting his arms up for a free ride. He’s too big for it, five now, but Alec looks like he needs a hug and children have an odd way of sensing that.

Ellie raises an eyebrow when Alec walks into the kitchen a few minutes later holding Fred on his hip. Her boy is yammering his ear off about something or other and it seems to have distracted her partner from his bad mood. She loves watching the two of them together and it always makes her heart feel full the way Fred opens up to him.

The four of them sit down to a breakfast of eggs and beans on toast (Tom did in fact fall immediately back asleep, so it’ll be hours before anyone sees him again). As they’re wrapping up, Ellie brings up the court case for the first time. “I’m going in. It should wrap up today and I want to see them cart her off.”

Alec nods in agreement, “You should.”

“You should come too,” Ellie says, ‘If you sit here, you’re just going to tie yourself up in knots with worry.”

Alec looks to Daisy for help, a reason to protest, but she’s taking Ellie’s side, so he grumbles his agreement. “Fine. Just let me text Aziraphale and Crowley again so they know where we are and that they can still reach us if we’re needed.” If he's secretly hoping Crowley answers this time, nobody needs to know that but him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Should have had this (very short) chapter up earlier, but I was too busy watching the entirety of Gracepoint over two days.
> 
> Also, never listen to me when I suggest a chapter count. They're all lies. The end is written though, so I'll have it up before the end of the week.


	9. A series of texts

It’s not Crowley that responds, but Aziraphale. It’s relatively straightforward as it says, “We’re up. Getting breakfast and then going to church,” but Alec reads it four times hoping it’ll give him more info.

A few months ago he would have been surprised about the ‘going to church’ comment, but he’s had that conversation with Crowley, and with Aziraphale, and again with both of them. To be honest, he’s probably never going to understand how his brother could have an active relationship with God and _church_ of all things after their childhood, but once he was convinced that his twin isn’t using it as some bizarre form of self-punishment, he decided he could accept it without understanding it.

Seeing the text now though makes him pause. _Is_ it a healthy coping mechanism? What is he going to do at church? _Pray?_ Despite his begrudging acceptance of his brother’s continued faith, he still can’t imagine the man kneeling at the altar.

He’s still contemplating a response that isn't scathing when Ellie takes the opportunity out of his hands by replying, “Sounds good. Thanks for letting us know.” Alec had forgotten it was a group text, but when we looks up at Ellie across the room with a glare, she just waves the phone and grins at him, and tells him to get ready to leave.

A few hours later, Klemmens has been sentenced and court is dismissed. When Alec pulls his phone out of his pocket, he finds Aziraphale started a new group text, this time leaving Crowley out of it.

**Aziraphale 10:01am:** Rough morning to be honest, but we’re at church now. I’m giving him time to do his thing  
**Aziraphale 10:34am:** Paul Coates - What are your thoughts on him?  
**Aziraphale 10:52am:** Heading out for a walk on the cliffs, let me know the update of the court case

Alec is quick to let him know the outcome of the case and is surprised when Aziraphale’s response is almost immediate. “Thank God!” is all it says. Alec starts to type out a response while Ellie pulls him across the floor to sit down on a bench so he’s not blocking traffic while he texts. She’s pulled out her phone to catch up on the conversation as well. She types up a full rundown of the court proceedings and hits send, knowing Aziraphale will appreciate the details. He does.

**Alec:** And Paul’s alright.  
**Aziraphale:** That’s high praise coming from you  
**Ellie:** He’s more than alright. He’s wonderful. Has done a lot for the community.  
**Aziraphale:** Okay, thank you. I spoke with him earlier; he seemed genuine, but I always like to get a second opinion  
**Ellie:** Of course, any time.  
**Ellie** : You guys still okay? Need anything?  
**Aziraphale:** We’re good. Watching the waves crash. It’s beautiful out here.  
**Alec:** eh…  
**Ellie:** It is.  
**Ellie:** Let us know if you need anything  
**Ellie:** Take care of yourself  
**Ellie:** You’re welcome to come round for dinner if you want  
**Aziraphale:** I’ll ask Crowley  
**Alec:** Daisy would like that. She wants to see you both.  
**Ellie:** …  
**Ellie:** Alec would like that. He wants to see you both.

Alec swats Ellie’s arm and attempts to take her phone away. “Don’t write that! Why would you write that?”

“It’s true,” she shrugs, “come on, let’s get out of this courthouse. I hate how much time we spend in here.”

As they’re standing up to leave, Alec feels his phone vibrate again. Assuming it’s Aziraphale responding, he ignores it. Ellie needs to pick up paperwork from the office, so they swing by. Seated at his desk, he digs his phone out to see what his brother-in-law had to say, but the notification is from Crowley. “You guys done talking about me?”

Alec isn’t sure what to say. Is his brother mad? Or is he making fun of them? He starts a response. Deletes it. Starts again and deletes that. After a number of failed attempts, another text comes in from Crowley: “Thank you for driving us home last night.”

Thankfully he doesn’t have to think too hard about how to respond to that text because it’s immediately followed by a series of others.

**Crowley:** You were right to worry  
**Crowley:** You don’t have to respond  
**Crowley:** I just wanted to say thank you. And sorry.  
**Crowley:** Texting you this may be the cowards way out, but it’s certainly easier  
**Crowley:** I understand why you are so upset about the drinking  
**Crowley:** I don’t think it’s a problem though.  
**Crowley:** Not really  
**Crowley:** Not anymore  
**Crowley:** That sounds ominous though, doesn’t it? It’s true though. It was a problem.  
**Crowley:** Was. In the past.  
**Crowley:** And i’m not just saying that  
**Crowley:** Zira keeps me honest  
**Crowley:** I have bad days but Aziraphale doesn’t let me drown in them. He reminds me how loved I am. That I have things worth living for. Worth being sober for.  
**Crowley:** Maybe you can do that too - keep me honest  
**Crowley:** If it’s not too much to ask?

Alec remained silent throughout the confession, hand gripping the phone tightly as it poured in in one text at a time.

**Alec:** Thank you for letting me know. I’m happy to be a crutch whenever you need it. Honestly Crowley, whenever. You let me know. Whatever you need from me, okay?  
**Crowley:** Thank you  
**Alec:** Also, you should talk to Paul  
**Alec:** The Reverend  
**Alec:** Since you go in for that sort of thing  
**Alec:** He’d understand more than you expect

\----------------

Crowley and Aziraphale are wandering in and out of shops on the main street, when Crowley receives a series of texts.

**Tom 9:42 am:** Mum said yesterday was shit and the lawyer was a dick  
**Tom 2:16pm** : There’s a car show in two weeks at Stansted Park. Can you take me?  
**Tom 2:16pm:** Please  
**Tom 2:16pm:** >link to event<  
**Tom 2:17pm** : There’s “vintage dancing” so you know Aziraphale will want to go

Crowley shows his phone and the texts from Tom to Aziraphale with a look of confusion. His husband laughs, “I see he’s as good at talking about feelings as you are. He’s just trying to reach out in the best way he knows how.” Aziraphale clicks on the link and scrolls through the event info. “Also, he’s right, I want to go,” he says handing back the phone. “Answer him. If you don’t want to go to the show, I don’t think he’ll care that much. He just wants to make sure you’re okay, so just say something and let him stop worrying.”

“It’s not his job to worry,” protests Crowley, folding his arms across his chest.

“Hmm… not sure it works that way.”

Crowley makes a sound of disagreement, but starts typing out a reply.

It’s not their first time having this conversation. “When people care about you they worry, dear, comes with the territory,” Aziraphale explains patiently. "We going to a car show then?" he adds.

"Looks like."

\---------------------

While Crowley and Aziraphale are tripping over each other to get ready for dinner at the Hardy-Miller house, they receive another text.

 **Jocelyn:** As I’m sure Ellie Miller and Alec Hardy have already informed you, the case wrapped today, and in a unanimous ruling Vanessa Klemmens was found guilty. Judge Sharma has sentenced her 30 years in prison.  
**Jocelyn:** Additionally, with your consent, I would like to enter a formal complaint against the defense attorney, Sharon Bishop. Although some of her points were valid in a court of law, her methods are unnecessarily vicious and she should not be able to continue to conduct cases in such a manner.  
**Aziraphale:** What would it entail on our end? Would we have to testify against her?  
**Crowley:** Do it 

“Crowley!” Aziraphale chastises.

“What angel?”

“Don’t just agree to things unless you know what you’re agreeing to!”

**Jocelyn, wanting to assure them both responds to Aziraphale’s question:** No, nothing like that. Although, if one or both of you is willing to write a 1-page memo it would help to include it. I will ask D.I. Hardy to do the same, but his will be from the station’s perspective, assuming he can keep it professional. 

**Crowley:** He will.   
**Crowley:** We will.  
**Crowley:** And in case you need me to put it in writing again:   
**Crowley:** Do it.   
  


\------------

It's a few weeks later and they’re both back at work when the next text from Jocelyn comes in. It’s date stamped 16 June 2020 and there’s no words in the text, just an image of an official warning made out to one Sharon Bishop from the Bar Council.

Aziraphale sends a sincere thank you.

Crowley sends a meme that really isn’t appropriate.

Aziraphale makes a mental note to scold him for it later. When Crowley get home an hour early that evening holding a bag of marshmallows and chocolate fondue, he forgets.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you've enjoyed this because I have!
> 
> I have other vague ideas for this "universe" - how Crowley and Az met, Daisy and Crowley meeting / bonding, Alec moving in with Ellie, the Them, etc., so I hope to keep adding additional one shots and stories. Maybe even more about their childhood. If there's something specific you'd like to see, please let me know, and I'll see if I can work it in. It'll probably be a little while before I write anything as I currently have no outlines or plots, just vague "it'd be cool if..." ideas.
> 
> Oh, and Tom's car show is real btw if anyone has any interest (I just made it in the spring cause, ya know, I can) https://www.visit-hampshire.co.uk/whats-on/victory-wheelers-hot-rod-and-custom-car-show-weekend-at-stansted-house-p1600551


End file.
